VICTORIA FALLS 2016

“For West is where we all plan to go some day. It is where you go when the land gives out and the old-field pines encroach. It is where you go when you get the letter saying: Flee, all is discovered. It is where you go when you look down at the blade in your hand and the blood on it. It is where you go when you are told that you are a bubble on the tide of empire. It is where you go when you hear that thar's gold in them-thar hills. It is where you go to grow up with the country. It is where you go to spend your old age. Or it is just where you go.”

― Robert Penn Warren

From the desk of the chairlady

When people break for Christmas, it is customary to wish each other Happy Holidays. A time to unwind, some well-deserved R&R from the hard work done in the 12 months and of course a minute to take stock. And I got my fair share of such wishes.

But I would hardly call my 16-days break, commencing 19 December 2016 into the New Year a vacation. It was an adventure: a bitter sweet experience and an eye opener at so many levels, some of it beyond my comprehension. I dared the devil, saw God’s handy work in the magnificent display of rugged terrain, countless continuous hills, and the breathtaking sunrise as well as sunsets.

The adventure entailed long drives, numerous pit-stops where we blended seamlessly with bushes, rocks or heaps of sand - and thereafter flash mob - as we conversed the land of Kilimajaro beer –Tanzania – which proved to be the longest yard from the Namanga boarder to Malawi, where a 650ml (I think so, I can’t remember exact Capacity) Kuche Kuche froth awaited thirsty throats; into Zambia through Mwani/Mchinji boarder. Mosi was the drink of choice in the former North Rhodesia, while Zimbabwe beckoned some from Victoria Falls. Others fancied a day trip to Bostwana’s Chobe National Park or Kazungula ferry across Zambezi River.

Two overland trucks trailed each other with 50 people, most of them strangers meeting for the first time. Few were audacious to bring their children and spouses, while the majority opted to freely mingle or not. For most, it took just an introduction to strike friendship, while others needed gallons of hot chocolate to warm up to anyone. Being an extrovert, I struck accord with both divides and quickly gained status as the chairlady of Truck One. It’s best left to your imagination why and how the title came to be, but feel free to run wild in your imagination. You could be in the right tangent.

Back to the grueling road trip, by day 3, masks begun to shed off exposing the real self and strangers slowly became family. Responding to familiar smiles was more graceful and genuine; and at the height of it all, adventure was the only currency worth exchanging. And like any other market that you would think of, there was a mad man who didn’t care what people said or thought about them, the Fisi Kuu who loved his ladies, the sexy doctor – a combination of brains, beauty and a tattoo, the whiner who’s day was not complete unless they complained about anything and everything, the town drunk – who had to be carried days on end - the socialite who’s phone buzz was dear like a heartbeat, the hyper-man with the energy for a dozen men on steroids, the happy-go-lucky, the smooth operator – need I say more - the sniper, the witty one, the eye-candy, the tradesman and of course the vulnerable. After all, diversity is the spice of life.

Pitching a tent seemed dreadful in the first day but the prowess displayed in day 5 was astonishing, in most cases done dead in the night. Of course with the shelter taken care of, food came next. It is absolutely ridiculous to say you were camping, and emerged 5 KGs heavier. For that, we squarely blame the chef. Fondly known as John, together with his super-efficient assistant, Shenze, their ability to make mouthwatering food was nothing short of mastery; five star cuisine could not come close to their craft. Preparing and feeding 50 people, tasty food prepared either in the woods, open savanna or in the rain, three times a day is no mean feat. This is the guy you call at midday when your caterer goes missing on your wedding day because he is damn reliable.

The local cuisine was also part of the adventure, from viazi karai in Tanzania to cassava ugali served with pumpkin leafs in Malawi. The Zambian delicacy on the other hand, was absolutely lip-smacking to the locals but eye watering for the foreigners; skewed rats complete with their tails and deep fried caterpillars. Given a choice, it might have been easier to opt to play hide-and-seek with a hungry lion.

But this experience is paltry compared to the conservative culture in the capital city of Tanzania, Dodoma. Hordes of men out of thin air gathered like a colony of moss to chase two of our ladies because their dresses was half a dozen inches above the knee to their liking. I survived by a whisker by jumping in the driver’s seat, oblivious of how high it was, thanks to adrenaline, while the other lady run for her life, well, her clothes. The message was clear, tourists or not, we were Africans and they were baying for blood, to strip the women who dared to have a choice in their dress code.

But the whitest, cleanest shore that I have ever seen - Kande Beach - in Malawi was the perfect antidote after the unprecedented ordeal. After days of long drives, the greatest appeal in the two days alongside Lake Malawi was to put our feet up, beautiful swimming costumes, it was irrelevant whether we could swim or not – it’s hardly beside the point - snooze on a hammock for hours, enjoy the panoramic view, leisure walks along the beach, which was therapeutic for our swollen feet, a game of pool or marinate in the sun or alcohol for others. Welcoming the stunning sunrise at 5:30 am was incredible, watching the sun become bigger by the second and changing colour from burnt orange – closer to a red hue - to bright yellow. Chasing the sunset was equally astonishing. My highlight, and that of many of us who could not swim to save their own live was cliff jumping from an island, 1.2 km into Lake Malawi. Plunging into water was the most torturous experience at the time, though exhilarating once the deed was done. But I guess I wanted to secretly prepare my mind for bungee jumping at the Smoke of Thunder (Vic Falls).

But nothing could have prepared me for bungee jumping. What would possess someone in their right mind to jump over 100 meters? As if that was not enough, Zambezi River awaits you just in case you continue falling. The Vic Falls crew, a jolly bunch of people, worked so quickly to gear me up and I bit my tongue not to ask if they had missed a step. They loudly count me down though I hardly heard them as fear consumed me. My eyes were tightly shut, because I would have quit happily had I seen what awaited me. Luckily, I hadn’t done any research or watched any videos and therefore no horrors stories to refer to. For the adrenaline junkies, they did it with so much ease like a well-trained palette that could distinguish a single malt single right from the barley farm. However, the completely inverted free fall spared no one and took no prisoners. Well, I am not sure if the crew gave me a gentle push or I did that by myself; but the free-fall, 110 meters towards Zambezi River from the safety of a bridge was the most insane thing I have ever done, might ever do - knock on wood. I remember trying to defy gravity to go back up to the bridge, but I kept plunging, never reaching the end, as if time froze and I was all alone atoning for my sins.

It felt like an out-of-body experience and at that time I wondered what my eulogy would read in case of death. I had actually paid top dollar for that torture. Screaming was useless, since there was no one to help me. I could not feel my legs, which were so tightly wrapped in two towels and bound together. I had a GoPro attached to my right hand and I needed to keep my arms spread out in order to record myself. My recording was amazing, it captured the river and the fall, not a single frame of me. My mind could not allow me to spread my arms and instead, I readied myself to plunge and therefore my hands, thanks to my reflex, went ahead of me. I envied those who had the ability to think while inverted and remember instructions from the crew. I had other pressing priorities - survival - and I was paralyzed with fear. The worst unforgettable experience was coming to a halt, suspended momentarily only to be yanked again to repeat the dreadful free-fall several times. What seemed like a lifetime was just about a minute. Yes, I did it, but I didn’t feel like a new person. I guess all my blood was still in my head. And my legs could not remember how to walk. Bungee jumping made the zip line feel like child’s play, which I aced. But what was amazing about the 250 metres zip line was crossing from one country to another, from Zam to Zim.

The swing, in tandem – which means two people together- was much easier since I was not alone. But the free fall was still bloody scary and it so happened to be raining when we did it. And at least, after the drop, we turned back up and swayed across the river and enjoyed the majestic view. The bungee was cruel because I was upside down for the entire experience. A thrill no doubt, but not for the faint hearted.

As if that was not enough some proceeded to flirt with death at the Devil’s pool, and no choir in their angelic voices would persuade me to swim towards the cliff, with no string attached. The stuff that makes a grown man scream like a like girl. At least they ticked off more things from their bucket list than I did. However, what I did at one of the seven wonders of the natural world was no mean feat either. Luckily vast tranquility awaited us – the sunset cruise – the stuff that makes people fall in love in movies. Would I do it again, maybe, time will tell.